is that "The Light of the
World," by Holman Hunt, is the only celebrated picture in the world
of which there are two originals. One of these may be seen at Oxford
and the other in St. Paul's, London. Neither is a copy of the other,
and yet they are both alike, so far as one may judge without having
them side by side. The picture represents Christ standing at a door
knocking, with a lantern in one hand from which light is streaming.
When I think of a lantern the mind instantly flashes to this picture,
to Diogenes and his lantern, and to the old tin lantern with its
perforated cylinder which I used to carry out to the barn to arrange
the bed-chambers for the horses. All my life have I been hearing
folks speak of the association of ideas as if one idea could conjure
up innumerable others. The lantern that I carried to the barn never
could have been associated with Diogenes if I had not read of the
philosopher, nor with the picture at Oxford if I had never seen or
heard of it. In order that we have association of ideas, we must
first have the ideas, according to my way of thinking.

Thus it chanced that when I came upon some reference to Holman Hunt
and his great masterpiece, my mind glanced over to the cynical
philosopher and his lantern. The more I ponder over that lantern the
more puzzled I become as to its real significance. The popular
notion is that it is meant to show how difficult it was in his day to
find an honest man. But popular conceptions are sometimes
superficial ones, and if Diogenes was the philosopher we take him to
have been there must have been more to that lantern than the mere
eccentricity of the man who carried it. If we could go back of the
lantern we might find the cynic's definition of honesty, and that
would be worth knowing. Back home we used to say that an honest man
is one who pays his debts and has due respect for property rights.
Perhaps Diogenes had gone more deeply into the matter of paying debts
as a mark of honesty than those who go no further in their thinking
than the grocer, the butcher, and the tax-man.

This all tends to set me thinking of my own debts and the possibility
of full payment. I'm just a schoolmaster and people rather expect me
to be somewhat visionary or even fantastic in my notions. But, with
due allowance for my vagaries, I cannot rid myself of the feeling
that I am deeply in debt to somebody for the Venus de Milo. She has
the reputation of being the ve